


The Witch of the River

by Rootlessshaw



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A lot of the other characters are mentioned, Alternate Universe, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mystery, Time Skips, slow, urban legend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8589835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rootlessshaw/pseuds/Rootlessshaw
Summary: Clarke knew what had to happen; the last weeks had been leading onto this moment, nothing could go wrong, nothing would; she was ready.





	1. Be Careful, Cautious and Take Care.

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on an urban legend my mom once told me. (maybe she made it up?)

With a deep breath Clarke stepped inside the room; heart pumping blood full speed to every muscle in her body, ready to fight the moment she’d need to. She knew what had to happen; the last weeks had been leading onto this moment, nothing could go wrong, nothing would; she was ready. 

When Wells didn’t show up for drinks last month she would have never pictured herself here, and even when more people started to disappear she didn’t think she would be the one doing this. She was trained to save people, she was trained to fight evil, she was even trained to stay calm in the most stressful of situations, but not this way. Her mother had taught her to heal wounds, remove spears, extinguish every bit of poisonous evil inside a body... Later this year, she would have been having her own ceremony to let the villagers know she too was a skilful medicine woman who could be trusted like her mother. But none of that wisdom would save her tonight. Tonight she would have to rely on the one week of training she had had to prepare for the only thing that would save her life, save the life of all the others. 

She had been an exceptional student, but she knew she would never be able to reach a level of skill even close to that of her teacher. While Clarke’s education had started with watching her mother treat patients as soon as she was old enough to walk, the few people who would one day be the defenders of this village had been training to do just that from that same age on. They had more than fifteen years of experience, built up endurance and a brain conditioned to think in terms of war that Clarke had to learn in less than a week. The impossibility of success wandered through everyone’s mind, but her teacher had volunteered to train her and had spoken with full confidence: “You can do this, you’re the one supposed to do this and I’ll help you get as prepared as you need to be.” For a tiny moment Clarke forgot her fears and chances of winning this fight, for Lexa -the bravest, fastest, strongest and wisest of the young defenders- believed she could.

Six days after Wells’ disappearance Anya didn’t report to her post at the nightshift as a second year-defender. Both cases were of little importance to the elders of the village who wrote them off as youthful outbursts. Wells was rioting against his father and Anya had always wanted to explore the woods and the world behind the river. They were confident both would return within this moon cycle.  
They didn’t.  
More people vanished. Finn, Maya, Costia.  
When Costia didn’t come home after her weekly trip to the edge of the woods for grapes, berries and the best apples around, a collective decision was made. The elders couldn’t handle the situation and the protection and inspection of this village had to be taken into the hands of those who would. The adults were ignoring the situation for the sake of their own normal lives and to avoid being confronted with the possibility of this happening to their own kids. The elders came up with more excuses about how Finn shouldn’t have been that deep in the woods and was probably eaten by a bear and how they were too busy with their own worries. They had to debate and decide whether to carry on with the alliance with the surrounding villages, because some didn’t want to have to share all their knowledge and food supplies in the winter anymore. They were too busy bickering to take care of their future generation. Up until then that was the only thing that connected these disappearances: they were all young. But when even Costia, known by everyone as the fruit and flower trader who could make even your worst day better with her smile (and the sweetest berries), disappeared, something had to change. It wasn’t surprising that the one organizing the meeting for whoever wanted to help was Lexa. She had always cared for Costia, even after their relationship had ended. 

The week of training had been one of Clarke’s most exciting weeks. She knew this was a last hope in a war never meant to be fought by her, but she couldn’t help the warm feeling of sweet tea running through her veins thinking about all this time she’d spent with Lexa. They had known each other’s names and had had their share of polite conversation and even something that could have grown into a friendship but never did. When the elders stopped organizing teachings for all the kids together about their history, laws, morals, beliefs... they didn’t see each other very often and each grew their different ways.  
Once or twice a moon cycle, Lexa did came to Clarke’s mother for some wounds that were too deep to take care of herself; Clarke always did enjoy helping with those wounds, while softly sharing some smiles with the badass who got cut by holding the sword of her opponent with bare hands or something other stupidly heroic. Maybe her mother had noticed this, because the last year she had always let Clarke take care of Lexa on her own, only checking the bandages afterwards, but even in those encounters they didn’t really do more than smile at each other, (and well, occasionally Clarke did make Lexa groan by pushing too hard on a wound that wouldn’t get clean...)

The meeting was mostly the young around the age of ceremony and some concerned parents, but none of the elders. Even Clarke’s mom didn’t come. Even though Clarke would later learn she was taking care of little boy bitten by a wild cat, it did hurt not seeing her there, even when the meeting itself turned out to be fruitless. Nothing suspicious had been happening in or around the village and there was no connection between these kids that went missing without a trace. Lexa sent everyone home with the message to be careful, cautious and take care of their friends, family and selves. They had to, if the elders wouldn’t. 

After a week of nothing happening, during the third fruitless meeting – they had just finished matching birthdays of the disappeared with no result – Octavia suddenly came running inside, hands on her knees grasping breath. Clarke thought for a moment she would start crying, but her eyes changed in an instant and she began speaking in an oddly formal and rational way: Lincoln had disappeared, but she had seen it happen. A person with dark blue long hair, white eyes with veins as blood trails in a white desert and a long black dress that made her look like she was floating on air, had entered the room when she was just outside the window. The person had whispered something in Lincoln’s ear, which made his eyes go blank immediately and had taken his hand and guided him outside. But in the sunlight the person wasn’t visible anymore. Octavia knew Lincoln was being guided but now it looked like he was just going for a walk. She had followed them until they reached the river and Lincoln disappeared in a second, just like the creature had done in the sunlight. She had stayed there, searched for any trace of him or the spine-chilling creature and waited fro him to return as sudden as he had disappeared, but nothing had happened; he was gone. 

The first day of training was not what Clarke had expected. Lexa had woken her up an hour before sunrise, given her grains, cold milk and some of her training clothes. They ate together in silence and Clarke changed fast into the clothes that still smelled like Lexa. They walked to the well still in silence, splashed the cold water in their faces and then Lexa slowly started running and talking. They ran around the village until the sun was high in the air while Lexa tried to tell Clarke all the stories of her theoretical training from the past 15 years in two hours. Clarke was fit but the run ended with her lying down in the grass, grasping for air and Lexa smiling; she had almost forgotten Clarke hadn’t had the physical training she and the other future defenders had had. She decided to continue her lesson on the importance of knowing your enemy over a damping bowl of soup at Octavia’s, where she, Indra and Raven were organizing the construction of some kind of movable tower. They had a plan. 

Octavia’s description of the person that had guided Lincoln into his disappearance had made all the hairs on Raven’s neck stand up. She would never forget the creature that had given her nightmares for years after her mother had told her the stories of the Witch of the White Desert. All of those had ended with the witch getting exactly what she wanted, which was never good for anyone but her. Raven would never be able to retell those stories without re-imagining the nightmares and waking up in a body dripping in sweat that didn’t feel like hers because the witch had just ripped her out of it. She knew who could though: Niylah, whose books held the stories of a million creatures, and her mind the secrets of every one of those. 

The first afternoon Lexa taught Clarke swords and knives. Not the kind that she had used before to cut cloths or flesh; these knives were heavier and needed more strength to cut deep inside the tree they were practicing on. They had sought out an open field with some trees just outside the village under a clear blue sky.  
Clarke realised now that she had been feeling warm inside that afternoon, which had nothing to do with the burning sun, but more with how Lexa’s fingers had touched hers when handing her knives and swords and giving her the right grip to hold them. That was a week ago, but she could still feel her touch on her hands and her fingers perfecting the grip on the knife she was holding right now. What she would give to have her comforting presence with her right now. Not to tell her what to do; Lexa had been an extraordinary teacher and she herself had been a fast learner; but just to give her that warm feeling of safeness that always occurred when Lexa was near.

Niylah told stories of how the witch of the white desert lured her victims into nothingness with whispers of promised dreams come true. It wasn’t the content of those whispers, rather the poison on her tongue that travelled through the listener’s ears into their mind that made them forget everything but the sound of those dreams. Niylah too had had nightmares of waking up with the witch beside her bed, too late to stop the poison from invading her thoughts and soul, until her mother had shown her her grandmother’s recipe for earwax that slowed the poison down about 700 heartbeats. That would be just enough time to lock yourself up and wait until the poisonous thoughts had vanished. 

The second day of training had started the same as the day before, with a breakfast of grains that was a somewhat less silent, Clarke dressing herself in Lexa’s smell and a walk to the well. But from the moment they started running, Clarke felt she would need all her strength that day, for her muscles were still tired from the day before, when her last practice fight had ended with Lexa on top of her, dagger ready to slit her throat. And even before Lexa’s encouraging words that she had taken out Roan much faster on multiple occasions, Clarke hadn’t felt bad about how these fights almost always ended in a sharp blade pressed against her, touching the line between dead and alive and Lexa breathing controlled, only some whispers away from her own face.  
But that morning she felt the aftermath of the running, jumping, blocking, attacking and falling she had done and realised once again the insanity of their plan.

Now that they had found a way of protecting everyone against the Witch, hope had planted its roots in the young and they started to look with a newfound eagerness for ways of defeating her and reasons why she lured persons with her into nothingness. Niylah taught some people to make the wax and together they distributed it over all the children and eventually also the few parents who didn’t laugh at them for believing the nightmares of some old women and her descendants.  
Even though everyone who wanted had their wax and knew how to use it, the other parts of their investigation started to feel too heavy again and the tiredness of everyone’s soul clouded Niylah’s store, which had grown to become their base of operation. But then the last eyes with a sparkle of hope in them had fallen on a small passage in one of the books they were crawling through; Octavia jumped up and ran to Raven, who was outside trying to translate some other books. The drawing of a creature both of them recognized, from either a couple of days or multiple years ago, was scarily accurate but made undeniably clear that the passage that read: “This which can never, in this world, be destroyed. ... The most magical of witches. ... Can only be captured in a vault made by the hands of friends working together. ... No one has ever succeeded. ...” described the witch that had taken all their friends and siblings away. 

After the sun had hit it’s highest point on the second day, Lexa knew she couldn’t ask Clarke to use all her power if they wanted to keep up their training for more than two days, so she started a lesson in spying, sneaking and camouflage. Clarke was thankful for all the rest her body could get, but her mind only grew more awake. She had always felt a rush playing hide and seek as a kid, and this afternoon brought back that same feeling of the fear of being found and the speed with which her heart seemed to drill through her chest. As a kid it was waiting until the inevitable moment of someone catching her and the sigh of relief that would leave her body, because being found wasn’t only a possibility anymore. Now she had to learn to hide without ever getting a relief in being found. Now she had to learn to hide from a fate that would kill her. Clarke’s heart didn’t stop drilling, even when they stopped crawling around and Lexa taught her how to use herbs, grass and mud to camouflage herself. Lexa’s long fingers full of dirt felt soft on Clarke’s face and for a moment so small she didn’t even realise it had happened ‘till days later, she whished that they could forget why all this was necessary and urgent and could just let the sun kiss their camouflaged faces and compare the softness of their hands against each other. 

Now that they had the information they needed to stop the Witch, al they missed was a plan. Raven was glad to finally have a feeling of a chance in fighting her nightmares without waking in a puddle of her own sweat in the middle of the night when the moon had already gone back to sleep and the clouds would darken the night so you could believe everyone had been sucked into nothingness. This time she was fighting the same battle as the persons closest to her and they knew the weakness of the Witch they had to slay. Even though Lexa had volunteered to fight the Witch and everyone knew her to be the best warrior of the land between the two rivers, they believed the book in that battle being a futureless fight. In their next meeting Raven expressed this thought on everyone’s mind and insisted on using the Witch's weakness and building a holding cell for her, to keep her captive until the world would end - be it in nightmares of nothingness or the dreams and hopes that would some days show a glimpse of them in a wandering mind. Octavia urged to build multiple cages so they would have multiple chances to catch the Witch. They divided themselves into groups to build different cages and one group to find a way to trick the Witch into one of them. 

Wednesday morning Clarke was awake before Lexa came in to wake her and she smiled unconsciously at the thought of seeing her face in the morning sun. She loved waking up to Lexa’s rituals and seeing her when she was still soft from the night and her voice matched the lingering sun on the horizon. Their morning run felt good, waking up muscles that wanted to sleep but knew they were needed. It was as if Clarke’s body were as enchanted with Lexa’s stories as her mind was and felt they had to keep up to stay under her spell. This morning she was telling Clarke about how apart from the body, the mind had to use its own muscles in a fight, not only to be smart, but more so to endure every hit the body would inevitably receive. It was intriguing to hear the brave Lexa talk about the times she felt hopeless and beaten down. Clarke even felt she was intruding in thoughts she would never have heard if it weren’t for these horrific circumstances and almost thanked them. Learning what had caused some of the wounds Clarke had helped heal and what had gone through her mind, when her gracious face had only smiled at seeing Clarke, made the memories of those moments somehow more important and present in her head. They appeared before her closed eyes the nights hereafter when she was trying to be sucked into the sleep she needed every second of, but Lexa’s smile would intertwine with her words of an almost hopeless mind fighting to keep her body standing and keep Clarke awake with wonder. What did that smile mean, and why made it rush her body as if she was running and fighting still imaginary enemies again?

The next meeting was on an evening the moon had decided to shine somewhat brighter to show her support of these youngs taking control over their own protection. Lexa asked every team how they were doing and when they would be ready. Having specific things to do had brought hope into everyone’s talk and it almost felt like everything would be fine, but something felt wrong for Lexa. Clarke, who had been trying to find a way to trick the Witch wasn’t there. A sudden shiver of worry climbed through her body. Lexa hadn’t known Clarke very well, but she liked seeing her every time she had to get a wound cleaned out or stitched. She realised she especially didn’t want to lose Clarke to this Witch and could only listen with one ear to how Niylah was explaining they had to catch the Witch on the night of exactly the sixth sundown form now, because the moon would be a small crescent, which would give them enough light to be able to see, without being seen themselves. Lexa had been reassuring herself that Clarke wouldn’t have been captured by the Witch - she knew how to use the wax and was too alert to be caught off guard - when Clarke stormed in, gasping for air and almost tripping over Raven and Octavia sitting in front of the entrance. Her eyes looked somewhere between determined and scared, her smile only visible between deep breaths and her ears full of wax. When Lexa saw the wax, she hurried to hold Clark in case the Witch’s poison would still get through to her mind; Raven and Octavia realised and followed her quickly in an embrace that felt oddly familiar. But Clarke knew the poison would already have reached her mind in that case, so she softly released herself from their arms and explained what would change all their plans.


	2. Hope, Fear and a Touch of goobye

After a meal at the river with a warm breeze whispering the sounds of the woods into their conversation, there was another fight training. This time Lexa focused on one-on-one fighting without any weapons, which probably resembled most what would happen in less than three nights. The hardness and determination with which both Clarke and Lexa tried to hold and bring each other down, was overblown by the hesitant softness of the smiles they sent each other in between battles. Clarke felt strong and even though she knew she would never reach a level close to Lexa in this limited time, her confidence grew. It made her wonder why she could only become a healer and not also a defender, why her education had been so limited. When the shadows of the trees reached their spot, Lexa sent Clarke home with an apple and the advice to go sleep, for tomorrow would be a long last day of training. Clarke had feared her mind would distract her from sleep with doubts, fears, questions and Lexa’s smile; but this week had already wore her down enough to fall in deep sleeps immediately. 

Clarke told everyone what she had just found out: The Witch was only interested in young artists. She had been at Marcus’ shop, deciding which art supplies to trade when a small breeze had made every single hair on her neck erect and her instinct had urged her to hide in the shadows next to the shop. And there she was, this Witch with eyes even whiter than she had painted them in the visualisation of the plan. Clarke had her earwax ready and was thinking of the best way to fight a witch that couldn’t be destroyed. She felt oddly ready. But the witch stopped before the window and looked longingly inside, a look Clarke knew all too well. She loved to stare at all the supplies, the colors, the papers... and talk to Marcus about what the best way was to draw rain and why water itself wasn’t the right color to paint water, and how everything had been in his life. And then Clarke remembered: the last conversation she had had with Marcus before all this madness had begun: he had asked her for her reservations, because he had lost his notebook. It had magically gone missing, disappeared. He was bragging about how he still remembered most of the reservation though: Wells’ notebook, Anya’s brushes, Finn’s pencils, Maya’s charcoal, Costia’s paint and Lincoln’s special paper, just not which shade of blue Clarke wanted.  
Wells, Anya, Finn, Maya, Costia, Lincoln...  
Clarke was next. 

The last day of training had felt like a long goodbye. Clarke and Lexa had spent these last days getting to know each other in situations they would never have imagined themselves in: Lexa teaching someone as old as her, Clarke learning to destroy and prevent in stead of heal, Lexa as leader of an entire group, not just the defenders, Clarke as the person who had to save everyone, both on top of each other with entangled hands and locked eyes... These days had felt as a life they could have lived and would have wanted to live in different circumstances, ones that would not include this ending so soon. Whatever would happen, this would end. Even if Clarke would survive this, she would have to become a medicine woman after her ceremony, only seeing Lexa in between her missions as a new defender. And even though this day would be the longest one yet – they would stay awake until deep in night, practicing in the mere light of a slice of moon, studying the directions the star could give a lost survivor and something Lexa still had to tell her – it could never feel like enough time to say goodbye to this life.  
Their morning run, that had just begun to feel like a relief for Clarke’s legs - being able to do something she knew for sure would get her forward, not backward into an even worse situation than the one she was trying to flee - felt like the last meal before the winter: she knew it would not have the same meaning to run after today so she soaked in all of it as best as she could. The conversation between them even felt like such last meal. Even when they tried to be professional and rehearse all the information Clarke had had to absorb, every three sentences the theme of death, endings or finality came into their words and minds. But with the sun rising higher and higher into the sky, the shadows in their thoughts disappeared too. Part of that was because they didn’t really have any time to worry or be nostalgic for the beginning of that week, when all still seemed impossible and a distant hero story from a children’s book, because the last meeting with everyone was that day. There wasn’t really enough room in Niylah’s shop, so Indra, who had been supervising the work for the past week, had taken everyone’s last report that morning and updated everyone over a bowl of steaming soup on the orchard next to the shop. All things considered, they had accomplished a lot in the span of six days with little to no help from parents, teachers and elders: Three different cages, a protective but subtle wardrobe for Clarke and some night lights for emergencies were finished. The biggest cage, a small wooden tower, which had taken almost everyone’s time to build, was the basis of their plan. And even though Octavia and Raven worked hard on their Witch-fishing net and Jasper and Monty’s box was designed brilliantly simple, everyone was hoping they would never have to use them. They only needed one vault for their plan, if they had to use the others, something had gone wrong and Clarke, the destined bait, was most certainly as lost as the others or dead – if there still was a difference between those two fates.

Getting the cages ready, Clarke’s wardrobe perfectly fit and the lighting in the right place took so long, it was already getting darker when they could resume their training. There still was a day left before the small moon would color the night, but everyone had agreed to finish preparations a day early, as not to warn the Witch, who might be watching them. They had tried and managed to hide as much of their activities inside during the week, but it wasn’t hard to imagine everyone running off and making last minutes alterations, forgetting this plan was build on being disguised. That did mean Lexa and Clarke had to spend time sorting out the last details of their patchwork plan that had to save their friends and the rest of the town, before they could start their night-training. 

After Clarke had told everyone that she was the next victim of the Witch and she was the only one who could lure her into a cage, five seconds went by in silence. Not everyone had the same relation witch Clarke, but no one wished her the fate of being bait for an undefeatable Witch. And even the ever rational Lexa felt mad at the rules of the stars for making this wonderfully brave, artistic, innocent woman a fixed rabbit. So when a rumble of ‘no’s and people objecting, disrupted those silent seconds, it wasn’t Lexa who had to remind everyone this was what they had been searching for; that it was a good way to catch the evil that had been threatening them for too long and that they needed to focus and make the best plan possible out of what the stars had given them, but Clarke herself. And so they did, with some protective reluctance at first, and when time had let the importance of this twist sink in with great determination to make the best plan possible. 

The night began with combat training. The air was cold, the light nearly gone and sleep was creeping up behind Clarke’s eyes. These far from ideal circumstances simulated as close as possible the ones she would most likely face the Witch in the next night, so she had to be prepared. And even though Clarke had felt the fear, there was no way it could simulate what she would feel when Lexa wasn’t there the next day. Lexa’s nearness had grown so usual these days, Clarke sometimes forgot how before that she only saw her once a moon-cycle. This night she tried to forget not spending time with Lexa and relished every moment of her proximity. They had already battled one on one, but the dim light, their tiredness and a small feeling of anticipation made this an entirely new experience. The strokes of their hands softly touching each other’s shoulder, hands, jaw; catching a glimpse of the rage, passion and moon in each other’s eyes; sharing breaths, heartbeats and hopes for a day they could do this again just for fun. 

They had to pause their touching combat when their bodies became bruised and tired, even though their minds still longed for closeness. So when they moved on to the second training of that night, reading the maps in the stars, they sat down closer to each other than they ever had – even though it felt like something they should have been doing their whole lives, and were not hopeful enough to wish for doing the rest of their life. There was something soothing about staring at the stars and trusting they will tell you where you are, where you are going and where home is. And in Lexa teaching Clarke how to find the brightest star in the sky, Clarke’s hands found Lexa’s. Their fingers entangled, Lexa hesitantly but so effectively softening caressed Clarke’s hand with her thumb as she told her how if she had found the star, she could find her way back from anywhere. And those comforting words in combination with the delicate touch of Lexa’s hand, was what she remembered – and longed for - the next night, waiting anxiously for her confrontation with the Witch.  
The night had already lived half of its short life and lost the companionship of the moon when Lexa stood up without untangling their hands and took Clarke to the edge of the forest where the burnt grass inside a circle of stones revealed previous fires. Clarke recognized the mark in nearest tree as the defenders’ mark and when she realised what this place was, she stopped walking. Lexa stopped too, held back by her hand still in Clarke’s, and saw the mix of fear, astonishment and something that might be hope inside her eyes. The smile that escaped to the surface of Lexa’s face was not enough to soothe Clarke, so Lexa untangled their hands, took a step backwards and got down on one knee. This moment was one Lexa had been debating in her head from the beginning of this week, but she had known this was the right thing to do all along. The ceremony of defenders, the spell of protection, the sacrament of immunity was only given to defenders before they went on an extremely important mission. Lexa herself had only gotten one herself, but had seen plenty to know exactly what to do. And even though Clarke wasn’t a defender, she was so brave to defend the village in one of the most important missions of her life and should get all the support, luck and protection she could get. Clarke had shown what a great defender she could be the past days and with this last part of transmission of Lexa’s experience, skill and wisdom, Clarke would be ready to see if everything would be enough. So down on her knee, Lexa invited Clarke into this sacred ceremony and swore to give her every protection she could.  
The sun was ready to shine it’s first light on the day, when Clarke got into her bed, still thinking about everything she had learnt, seen, felt... this night. One thing she couldn’t keep out of her mind in all of those memories was how right it had felt to feel Lexa’s touch. Her touch when they were fighting: raw, but conscious; her touch of one hand in hers when the other was pointing to the stars: soft, warm and safe; her touch when she drew the marks of the defenders and their protection symbols on her forehead and arms: cautious, concentrated, calm. She still couldn’t believe she had gotten the spell of protection, something that was only meant for defenders. The symbols on her arms reminded her she would have to be a defender too, she would have to prove she was worth these marks, the careful training, but especially the trust everyone - the trust Lexa - had in her. She remembered Lexa’s last words of thata night: “You can do this, Clarke, the new defender of our young” and how good it had felt to hear her name coming from Lexa’s lips. 

Clarke knew she had to sleep until long after the sun had reached it’s highest point, but the moments she was woken by sunlight, anticipation or fear, she heard small noises outside her room that made her almost certain Lexa was out there, getting the last details ready, stopping anyone who wanted to disturb Clarke’s essential rest, guarding her. Clarke had never wanted anyone to protect her, but knowing Lexa was out there was different. The moments Clarke was woken by the sound of the door opening and a relieved sigh, she pretended to be asleep and covered the smile on her face with her hair. She didn’t want Lexa to notice these more and more frequent check-ups on her were actually waking her, because the warmth of that small sigh was every time so much more worth than the rest any amount of sleep could give her.  
The last time she was woken, the opened door wasn’t followed by a sigh, but by the smell of warm soup, a soft “it’s time” from Lexa’s voice and the feeling of her tired closeness. Clarke knew she had to open her eyes and get ready, but she wanted to remain in this moment for some heartbeats longer - just between a dream of safeness and the reality of this wonderful girl helping her prepare for a deadly battle. Those heartbeats passed fast, as they always seemed to do the last days when Lexa was this close to her. In other places and times she would probably have had time to overthink all the things she was feeling, resulting in her blushing every time she saw Lexa’s eyes or heard her voice, but times of dark wars didn’t really hold much space for fuzzy feelings. Clarke knew she couldn’t let herself get distracted before tonight, so she opened her eyes, sat up and drank her soup in silence.  
There wasn’t much time, the sun was already disappearing after the highest trees and the smallest moon had already risen over the river. There was no time for long goodbyes. No one was calling their words a goodbye, but the fearful anticipation of missing in them felt just like when Clarke had seen her father for the last time before the flames had taken his body and returned his dust back to the earth. And even when the words of her mother were inspiring, confident and full of hope, Clarke could see the same image of burning flames and tears in her eyes. When Clarke had finished her last non-goodbye and still hadn’t seen Raven or Octavia, she tried her best to make herself believe it was no big deal and she would see them after all this was over; so she didn’t say anything. Only Lexa, who had been observing Clarke closely, noticed her worried eyes and assured her she would get someone to look for them and see if everything was okay. At this moment though, they had to go, part ways and both pretend their worrying wasn’t killing them slowly.  
And so when Clarke entered the highest room in the wooden tower her pretending had turned into deep awareness of her responsibility accompanied by strong determination. She knew what had to happen; she was ready.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
